


Witch Fire

by enkelimagnus



Series: SH Sapphic Ficathon Prompts [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Suicidal Thoughts, Vampire Isabelle Lightwood, Witch Clary Fray, Witch Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkelimagnus/pseuds/enkelimagnus
Summary: A silhouette wades through the smoke and Clary thinks she’s hallucinating. The strain of her uncontrollable magic and the revelation could very well be making her see things that are not there.No human can walk through witch fire. She knows that, even if she doesn’t know much else.----------------Clary's magic gets uncontrollable and Isabelle saves her life. Secrets are revealed. Feelings blossom.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood
Series: SH Sapphic Ficathon Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574311
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43
Collections: shadowhunters sapphic ficathon





	Witch Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the "This isn't your destruction" prompt from week 1 of the Shadowhunters Sapphic Ficathon.
> 
> This was loosely inspired by the show A Discovery of Witches that I just absolutely love. It was a last-minute, incredibly fun thing to write.

The entire world is on fire. 

Or at least it feels like it is. Clary’s eyes are open despite the fact that she wants to close them. The world around her is blurring with gold and blue and red, colors of the fire that’s raging as she screams. 

Her voice mixes with the noise of the building bursting into flames and burning to ashes, wood crackling and searing as the witch fire screams with her and takes away all of that exists. Her body is cold despite the fire, she feels frozen inside, frozen in place and she can’t stop screaming. 

The air is thick with smoke and pain and her thoughts have turned to dust a long time ago. There is only the feeling of the fire, inside and outside of her, cold and cruel and burning all the same. 

She remembers what triggered it, of course. Her mother’s body laying broken on the floor of her memories, memories that had been repressed for her entire life until this very day, seconds or hours from the moment she’s living in now. 

Her mind tries to adjust to the reality that her mother is dead and not lost, that she will not find her no matter how hard she searches. The fire rages around her, defense mechanism against the reality of the body and the smoke, and the eyes of the man who killed her. 

Her hair might be on fire as well. She truly, deeply, doesn’t give a fuck. She wants to burn. Maybe she wants to die too. 

A silhouette wades through the smoke and Clary thinks she’s hallucinating. The strain of her uncontrollable magic and the revelation could very well be making her see things that are not there. 

No human can walk through witch fire. She knows that, even if she doesn’t know much else. 

The silhouette gets closer. They’re walking through the debris and through the flames with little to no qualms about it. 

The piercing scream that is coming out of Clary’s mouth gets higher and louder and she doesn’t even know how it’s possible. She’s gonna die, right there. She can feel it, the magic, uncontrolled and tearing through her, even if she is supposed to be its master, or friend, at least wielder. 

She wants to tell the thing that is coming to her that they should run. She cannot stop screaming. It starts to hurt. The fire is licking at her body, snaking up her legs. 

She can finally see the face of the person that came to burn with her. 

It’s Isabelle. Her hair is dark and heavy and wavy around her face. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated. Her lips are blood red. They are always blood red. Clary has never seen her look different. She’s always pale, dark-haired, dark-eyed and blood-red-lipped. 

Isabelle grabs her. She wraps her arms around her, tight around her waist, and Clary’s back hits her chest. Isabelle holds her still, and Clary wants to scream at her to run. The fire is coming to kill her. Isabelle will burn. Witch fire is too strong. 

“Listen to my voice.” 

Clary hasn’t heard anything but the screaming and the fire for what seems like ages. 

“This is not your destruction, Clarissa.” 

Isabelle is the only person to call her Clarissa. Clary has never told her that was her full name. 

Isabelle shudders behind her and Clary knows she’s starting to feel the burn. Her grasp gets stronger on her, keeping her tight against her body. Clary doesn’t want this to happen, but she can’t stop it. She can’t move. She can’t think of a way to stop it.

“Breathe.” 

It’s an easy command but Clary cannot bring herself to obey. The magic is the only thing keeping her from crumbling right now, from suffocating. It’s taken over her entire body, her brain and her motions. It’s freezing her into place as the fire rages on. 

“Breathe, Clarissa. Take the control back. You can do it.”

Isabelle is wonderful and she doesn’t deserve to die with Clary. She should leave, run, leave her to crumble down into ashes like the wood of the old house or barn they are standing in, Isabelle holding her, Clary a statue. 

The tip of the fingers of Clary’s right hand are starting to crackle and burn. She can see it, they are in the vision field of her unmoving eyes. She’s going to die. She’s going to join her mom. And her big brother. Everything will be okay there. 

“Please. Please breathe for me.” 

Isabelle’s voice cracks this time. It’s been quiet and calm and clear for now, trying to shake her out of the witch fire trance with firmness. Now it’s getting desperate. She’s getting desperate. 

“I don’t want you to die. I haven’t told you all the things I wanted to say. Clarissa, my love… Please breathe.”

Clary breathes in. 

It’s incredibly easy and incredibly hard at the same time.

Life spreads from her chest outwards. As she inhales, her lungs open and warmth slowly creeps out of the alveoli and into her bloodstream. The screaming stops. 

“Relax now. I got you.” 

Clary’s legs unfreeze and buckle. Isabelle catches her. She’s impossibly strong. She guides her to the ground. Clary can’t move, not really, but it’s not because her magic is keeping her locked in place like a statue. The magic has let go of her, but her entire body is limp with exhaustion.

Her ears ring. Her throat is dry. She’s starting to gain control again, at least over her body and Isabelle is muttering praises she can’t really hear into her hair. Breathing is still hard. Her lungs burn, as if she’s spent too long underwater in apnea. 

Isabelle slides one arm under her legs and the other under her back. She gets to her feet within seconds. Clary looks at her. She’s not even straining to pick her up. 

Clary doesn’t have time to think about more before everything goes dark and she falls asleep against Isabelle’s chest. 

\----------

She wakes up because she’s way too warm. Her eyes flutter open and there are way too many blankets piled on top of her body. Something’s pinching her arm too. She barely has time to register the IV drop next to the bed. The world goes blurry again and she falls back asleep. 

\----------

She’s much colder the second time she wakes up, and it might be due to the lack of blanket mountain over her body. She also feels much better. Much more awake. Her body aches as she shifts under the sheets, the kind of aches she would usually get after a strenuous workout. She feels… okay. 

The fire, her mom’s body and the pain come back to her mind, and she shakes her head a little. She doesn’t want to think about that, not more, not again.

“Clarissa?” 

Clary turns her head. Isabelle is standing at the doorway, looking at her. She looks relieved, Clary thinks. She didn’t hear her come in. 

Isabelle crosses the distance to the bed before Clary has the time to think about sitting up. Clary swallows. Isabelle is alive. She shouldn’t be. She walked through witch fire and held her as she burnt and screamed and was devoured by magic. She should be a pile of ashes in the ashes of the barn. 

Isabelle sits on a chair at the side of the bed. She reaches up and gently pulls a strand of Clary’s hair from her forehead. She lays it back against the pillow and sighs softly. 

“I’m glad you woke up. You’ve been asleep for two days,” Isabelle whispers. 

Clary swallows. Her throat hurts. She hasn’t drank anything in two days. Isabelle grabs a glass of water with a straw from the bedside table and helps her drink. It helps. It’s fresh and cool and it makes Clary feel much much better.

“You aren’t human,” Clary croaks. 

Isabelle freezes. She stares at her, completely frozen. It takes forever for her to blink, and that just adds to Clary’s gut-feeling. 

“I’m sorry, Clarissa,” Isabelle replies. She moves her hand away from Clary’s hair. 

Isabelle does look truly sorry, sitting there in the darkened room. The light is a bit strange. Colorful curtains have been pulled over the windows and it seems like it’s the middle of the day. She’s wearing a black dress with long sleeves. Her lips are red still. Always red. 

“What are you? How did you survive the witch fire?” Clary asks. 

“I’m…” Isabelle hesitates, shifts, looks away. 

Clary wants to tell her she doesn’t hate her, but she wants to know first. It doesn’t really matter to her what Isabelle is, as long as she’s truthful about it. And she hasn’t been, not for the five months they’ve known each other and the two kisses, one drunk and one sober, they have shared. 

“I’m a vampire.” 

“Fuck.” 

Clary closes her eyes. Vampire. That’s worse than anything. That’s old and dangerous, and blood-thirsty. 

“I know I should have told you before, Clarissa. I was afraid you’d push me away.” 

Clary sighs and opens her eyes again. Isabelle is looking at her with fear and hope meddled in her eyes. 

“Pushing people away is not exactly my style.” 

Isabelle nods. They both remember the mess that was dealing with Clary’s brother. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Clary sighs again, and shifts. She pushes herself up on her elbows. Her joints scream in protest. She’s been in a bed for two days after using so much magic that her entire body remembers it. She feels so incredibly rusty. 

Isabelle tilts her head and moves, helping her up to sit up. She grabs the pillows and places them in a way that will support Clary’s back. Clary pats the side of the bed in invitation. Isabelle doesn’t hesitate before taking it.

“How old are you?” Clary whispers.

“I’m over 500 years old,” Isabelle replies. “I was born in Spain, under the reign of Isabel I de Castilla.” 

Clary has a bit of a chuckle. “That’s… damn. I can’t wrap my head around it.” 

Isabelle grabs her hand tenderly, softly. She’s always been this tender with her, Clary notices. She must have been afraid of hurting her. Vampire strength and all. 

“So. I’m dating a Spanish noble from the 15th century?” Clary asks. It’s the first time she’s referred to their relationship like that. Dating.

Isabelle exhales and Clary can see the relief on her face. “We’re okay?” 

“We are. But I’m going to have a lot of questions,” Clary chuckles. She’s tired still and she wants to go back to sleep. However, she wants to make sure Isabelle knows she’s not mad, or disgusted beforehand. 

“I’ll answer them,” Isabelle promises. She leans up, and Clary leans in as well. 

Her red lips are soft against Clary’s chapped lips. Clary closes her eyes and savors the kiss, the tenderness of it, and the adoration. She wants more, just like she always does with Isabelle. She wants more kissing and intimacy. 

Isabelle moves back after a moment. Clary sighs. She misses her lips already. 

“Will you hold me?” Clary asks. 

Isabelle nods. She helps Clary back to a laying position. She then kicks off her shoes and slides herself under the sheets, presses herself close to Clary and relaxes. Clary smiles. She’s exhausted and achy and still grieving, somewhat. She’ll deal with the memories another day though. 

Isabelle’s arm is around her waist, her thumb gently caressing her side. She feels safe. That’s all that matters. Questions about Isabelle’s past, her family, or about what Clary did in the barn will wait for her to not be exhausted anymore. 

Isabelle presses a kiss to her cheek. Clary’s eyes flutter shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Shoot me an ask or a DM on my tumblr @enkelimagnus, or reach me on my Twitter @enkelimagnus!  
> I have anons on and curiouscat so don't be shy!


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